The Closet Body
by Ragged Claws
Summary: Daria has a secret. A one shot.


"Seems like you've got a thing for peanut butter sandwiches," quipped Jane, eyeing the culprit - which had landed spread-side down on Daria's chest - with amusement.

"Shut up!" shot back Daria, pulling off the piece of bread which left a sticky trail of nutty goodness on her jacket and shirt.

Daria had been spreading the slice of bread on the edge of a plate when she accidentally leant her elbow on it and upturned it, sending the piece flying.

"Well, at least it wasn't on your ass this time," pointed out Jane, handing her friend a plastic bag – a cheap remedy to the damage at hand, but the only thing remotely close to a cloth that she could find (they were in the Lane kitchen after all), "seems like its getting a little more adventurous by heading for your rack."

"Dammit! I can feel it soaking in."

Jane placed her hand on Daria's shoulder.

"Looks like you're in for a trip to the bathroom, kiddo."

Daria pushed off Jane's hand.

"You have a bathroom?" she asked in mock amazement.

"You _know_ where it is."

"You _know _that I've always likened your family to the Brady Bunch."

"Now that you mention it, like them we _have_ a bathroom. It's a toilet our two families are without." Jane corrected.

A pause.

"Besides, where else would Trent smoke his weed?" Jane smirked.

"Good point," Daria agreed, moving to the door, "and Jane?"

"Yes, Daria?"

"Stop calling me 'kiddo'." She ordered flatly.

"Whatever you say, Charlie Brown."

The bathroom _did_ smell of weed.

Daria took in the assortment of herbal hygiene products, burnt-down candles and unidentifiable sludge at the corners of the sink before attempting to shut herself in.

"Of course the door doesn't close," she sighed, glad for once that Trent was out.

Rather than wasting her time wrestling with a stubborn piece of wood, Daria decided that she'd take a no-bullshit attitude towards the situation and removed her jacket and shirt without further ado.

Forcing herself to make actual contact with the faucet, Daria ran the water over her clothing, groping for a bottle of herbal liquid that she poured over the stains.

Wrinkling her nose at the smell, she wondered if Jane was right and substances such as peanut butter _really did_ have a thing for her.

Alone in the kitchen, Jane's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing. Dreading that it would be her mother, she gingerly picked up the receiver.

"Helen Morgendorffer speaking. Is this the Lane residence?" _Daria's_ mother greeted in a professional manner.

Jane inwardly sighed with relief.

"Yeah, this is the, uh…Lane residence."

"Oh, hello, Jane. Is Daria there?"

"She's a little busy at the moment," Jane replied, "but if you like I could pass on a message for you."

"That would be lovely," Helen said eagerly, "her imbecile of a father has burst another blood vessel, and as I'll be tied up at the office tonight I'll need somebody to make sure that he has something to eat and keeps off the martinis.

"What with all the stress he's had lately I knew that it would only be a short while before it happened again. I keep telling him and telling him, 'Jake, honey, you're going to have a cardiac arrest if you don't stop! Heart disease runs in the family, you know, and you're always saying that you don't want to go like your father'.

"But he just keeps worrying about the most trivial of things, tossing and turning all night! I'm considering kicking him out into the living room again! God knows we haven't slept together in…"

Helen broke off abruptly, realising that her daughter's friend was still on the other end of the line.

"I've said too much, haven't I?" she asked, a trace of embarrassment in her voice.

"Yeah," Jane admitted, "but not _too_ much."

Helen sighed.

"Thank you, dear. You'll tell Daria to be home no later than six?"

"No problem, Mrs. M."

"Call me Helen. And thank you again."

"Bye, Helen."

Jane hung up and headed to the bathroom.

Jane had forgotten that the door didn't close properly anymore, so was a little surprised to see her friend's bare back as Daria leant over the sink.

What really intrigued Jane though was the squarish mark on her friend's side which shone in the artificial light of the bathroom.

Curious, and as Daria was completely oblivious to her surroundings, Jane didn't think she'd be doing any harm to get a closer look.

Sneaking in as quietly as she could, she studied the gleaming silver with confusion.

'Why,' she thought with surprise, 'that kind of looks like…'

Daria started and spun around as Jane's foot trod on a discarded bottle, omitting a loud squelching sound. Daria anxiously tried to cover her chest but Jane had already seen.

"Jane!"

"Daria…"

"What were you…"

"You've been taping down your boobs?!"

Daria sighed, unconsciously tapping the heel of her boot on the back leg of the chair. The two friends were sitting in the kitchen, staring at their peanut butter sandwiches blankly as they conversed uncomfortably.

"You could've at least used that double-sided tape celebrities use. I mean, _duct tape_? Really, Morgendorffer."

"Surprisingly, Quinn doesn't have everything." Daria answered quietly.

"And here I was thinking that she could help me with that new, ultra-revealing dress I bought…" Jane joked, "But that's not the point, Daria. You shouldn't have been doing it at all…"

Daria kept silent.

"I mean, I recall that once you even let yourself be humiliated by a very plastic, plastic surgeon regarding your supposed lack of endowments."

"So?"

"The nut-job gave you a pair of fake boobs, for Christ's sake!"

"What was I supposed to do?" Daria snapped, "Tear them out and shake them in her face?"

Jane hastily stifled a laugh.

Daria glared at her before resuming.

"I guess I didn't want to be treated like Brittany. A constant allusion to jiggling things such as jell-o isn't exactly my idea of a picnic in the park."

"Come on, Daria," Jane persisted, "_Nobody_ has boobs that big."

Daria tapped her fingernails on the bench nervously.

"You do have a point there. But mine were still noticeable."

Jane threw up her hands with disgust.

"But isn't that a good thing? Seriously, Daria, most girls would kill to be voluptuous."

"Personally, I prefer the term, 'heavily-burdened'."

Jane cast her eyes aside and took a deep breath.

"I know I would…" she said softly without meeting her friend's gaze.

"So that's the reason why you wear such baggy clothing," said Daria, not bothering to veil her irritation, "I thought you didn't care about stuff like that, Jane."

"I thought you didn't either!" Jane retaliated, "but apparently you do! Enough to try and pretend you're flat-chested anyway – as if _that's_ no big deal!"

"But that's different, dammit!"

"IT'S THE SAME THING!"

Jane angrily removed herself from the table and went to her room.

Daria sat stiffly, still fingering her peanut butter sandwich, a sickening feeling in her stomach.

Turning down her stereo, Jane trudged to the door, certain that she had heard a knock.

"I didn't mean to yell at you, Daria," Jane apologized as she found her friend on the other side.

"No, I'm the one that should be apologizing. You're right. I shouldn't be doing it."

Jane ushered her in guiltily. Daria self-consciously took a seat on the bed.

"You see, Jane, it's not really a new thing."

"I gathered," she answered, anticipating the reason that Daria was about to reveal with anguish.

"The truth is I'm not entirely sure why I'm doing it. But at least I know that the thing I mentioned before is part of the reason."

She paused.

"If somebody liked me, I wanted it to be because of who I am, not because of the way I look. Having a sister like Quinn gave me a lot of insight into what it would be like to be perceived in such a shallow light. I didn't fancy the idea of people staring at my chest instead of my face when I was talking. "

"But your sister's boobs aren't even that big," Jane interjected.

"That isn't the point. What's important is that she's judged by most people solely by external, superficial factors. Nobody cares if she's 'not just a pretty face'…Besides, I'm sure it minimizes the amount of times a creep like Upchuck would hit on me."

Jane rolled her eyes.

"We both know that Upchuck would hit on anything with two X chromosomes. Even if it were dead…"

"…And rotting…"

"…And at the very bottom of the sewer."

The two smiled at each other.

A few tense moments passed between them before Jane plucked up the courage to continue.

"Now I know one of the reasons you weren't so keen to sleep with Tom," she realized, folding her arms.

Daria nodded.

"So…what are we going to do about it now that I know?"

Daria shrugged.

"Don't need to go back to that self-esteem class with O'Neill, do we?"

"Ha-ha. Very funny. I'm sure that he has a lot of experience and insight regarding issues like this, just like he does with everything else."

Jane chuckled.

"Who knows? Maybe those rumors about him being a transsexual are true? Perhaps he can give you personal advice spanning from taping down his own breasts prior to the operation."

"I doubt he_'s_ had the operation yet. _She_, judging by her emotional intensity, still appears to have a monthly cycle."

"As does DeMartino," Jane offered.

"We all know that they were both in it together from the start."

Smirking, Jane strode over to a fresh canvas and began to scrutinize it.

"New idea?" Daria asked.

"Yeah," Jane answered bluntly, "it's going to be called 'Daria: the closet body'.

She picked up a brush and dipped it into a newly opened can of white house-paint. Feeling a little hurt, Daria watched as Jane began to work away.

"That's not funny. And even if I wanted to," Daria began, "I couldn't just stop taping them. Suddenly revealing them to the world would make everybody think I got a boob-job."

"I thought you didn't care what people think," said Jane, dipping her brush into a small pot of blood-red and slashing it across the white, creating what resembled a pink gash on pale skin.

"I don't," answered Daria. She paused for a moment, scratching the back of her neck, and then lowered her voice.

"I do."

Jane resisted the urge to smile.

"Well, we're moving to Boston soon," she reminded her friend, "so you can show off your new – or should I say old – body to its humble citizens."

"I guess," Daria agreed after a while.

"Good. So when Trent comes to visit, he'll know that there's something different about you, but he won't quite be able to put his finger on it."

The ghost of a smile appeared at the corners of Daria's mouth.

"I hate you, Jane."


End file.
